


Who Would’ve Thought?

by allmystars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bullied Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Punches Castiel, Dean Winchester Has An Accent, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, First Meetings, Fluff, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Meet-Ugly, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Nosebleed, POV Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24114838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmystars/pseuds/allmystars
Summary: Castiel Novak has lived in Lebanon, Kansas all his life. He's been walking in this park for as long as he can remember, and never, in all his adult years, has he been punched in the face for minding his own business.Until Dean Winchester moves to town.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 300





	Who Would’ve Thought?

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story so long ago, I can hardly remember it, but it's based on this prompt: “We both like walking in the park at night and I think you’re a stalker so I accidentally attack you and give a black eye, sorry.”
> 
> Also, happy mother's day to all the wonderful moms out there!
> 
> Hope y'all like it! Let me know.

The slap of sneakers on concrete fills Castiel’s ears. There’s one set, which he knows to be his own, and the only other sounds come from the crickets in the bushes and his own breaths.

Every once in a while, there’s a faint pop in his hip, but he ignores that—it’s been there since the tenth grade when Lucas Angelas decided it’d be fun to see what would happen if he shoved Castiel into the school’s empty swimming pool.

Needless to say, it wasn’t fun for Castiel. He’d ended up with a dislocated hip and a broken wrist.

The night air smells like freshly cut grass, remnants of the landscaping job the town of Lebanon, Kansas spent a year fundraising for when Mr. Turner complained about how "goddamn ugly the whole thing is". Castiel has to admit, the park _does_ look nicer.

He tucks his hands deep in his pockets as the days blistering heat fades to a dewy chill. Not near cold enough to see his breath yet, but his jacket is nice and comfortable.

He’s about a third of the way through his nightly walk when another man steps onto the path up ahead. Castiel scowls—he hates not being the only one out and about at this time. Every person he’s ever met on his walk wants to _talk_. About the weather, or the landscaping, or whether or not Castiel thinks the mayor will be reelected.

But the other man doesn’t seem to even know he’s there—fine by Castiel.

He keeps his distance for as long as he can, but the other man walks slower than him and appears to be going in the same direction, so Castiel will have to pass him sooner or later. He figures sooner is probably better, and speeds up. It’s getting colder and he wants to get home at a decent time, so he tucks his chin and stuffs his hands deeper in his jacket pockets as he lengthens his stride.

He’s not really paying attention as he approaches the man, thinking more about what kind of tea he’ll have to warm his bones when he gets back home. He wonders if maybe old Mrs. Sunder across the hall might want to join him. Sometimes she does, but she’s usually out at bingo with her daughter on Thursday nights, so—

“Fu—!” Castiel shouts as pain explodes in his nose and he stumbles back. His ass hits the ground before he knows what’s happening, and a stab of pain shoots up his spine.

He pulls his trembling hands away from his face and hot, sticky blood coats his hands. It runs from his nose, over his lips, and drips off his chin, but he stares at his fingers as tears leak from the corners of his eyes.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” A man Castiel doesn’t know stands in front of him, his eyes wide, and worried, and _guilty_ , but Castiel just watches as he paces, then squats in front of him, and Castiel realizes it was _this_ man. _He_ made Castiel bleed.

“Why…?” Castiel had thought the bullying stopped in high school—that he wouldn’t have to worry about anymore sneak attacks from people he thought were his friends. Or not-so-sneak attacks from people he knows _aren’t_.

The man just keeps on rambling, “I just moved here and I’m all alone; I’m from a big city and you were walking faster like you were going to attack me, so I thought you might actually, which is why I attacked you first, but that was really stupid of me, and, and, and… oh God, why won’t it stop bleeding?”

It’s only then that Castiel realizes he has a shirt pressed to his nose, and it’s soaked with his blood. He takes it from the stranger, making sure to pinch the bridge of his nose and tilt his head forward—not back. “I think you broke it,” Castiel says and his voice is high and nasally like he’s got a cold. He blinks away the tears that gather in his eyes and stumbles to his feet. The other man helps steady him with a hand on his elbow.

“Here, let me take you to a clinic.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Castiel says, already trying to pull away. He sways, the blood rushing from his head as dark spots fill his vision.

“Hey! Hey, come on.” The stranger grabs his arm and holds him steady as Castiel’s pulse pounds in his ears. Yeah, maybe the clinic wouldn’t be such a bad idea. “You’re going to have to tell me where to go. Like I said, I ain’t from 'round here.”

“Yeah, I caught that.” Blood drips over Castiel’s lips and he holds the shirt tighter, then groans when a sharp stab of pain fills his eyes with tears. Instead of focussing on the ache, he blinks away the moisture and speaks as he leads them from the park. “Where’s the accent from, anyway?”

“Grew up in Lawrence and moved here about a week ago.” The man smiles, and it’s only then that Castiel notices how _beautiful_ this stranger is. Dark hair lightened by too many hours in the sun, and a faint smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. It’s hard to tell the color of his eyes in the dark, but Castiel’s sure they’re just as gorgeous as the rest of this man, with his broad shoulders and perfect bone structure.

Isn’t that just Castiel’s luck—the most beautiful man he’s ever seen punches him in the face on sight. Can’t he ever catch a break?

“I’m Dean, by the way.” The stranger says, offering Castiel an awkward smile. Castiel blushes when he realizes he’s been staring and looks at his shoes, the trees, the dark store-fronts, _anything_ , for a distraction.

“Uh, Castiel—Cas. Cas is fine. You can call me Cas.” He snaps his mouth shut to stop the verbal vomit and pinches his nose tighter. The bleeding might be slowing down, but he’s not about to tell Dean that—he might decide Castiel doesn’t need him around anymore.

Not that Castiel needs him, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone around.

“Nice to meet you, Cas,” Dean drawls, his accent thick and syrupy, like the sweetest honey. “Though, it probably ain’t that nice for you.” He chuckles, the rough sound sending shivers down Castiel’s spine.

 _Wrong_ , Castiel thinks, and as soon as it crosses his mind, he knows he’s in trouble. This isn’t a man that’d be interested in Castiel. He’s probably as straight as they come, and even if he’s not, the point still stands that he won’t be interested in _Castiel_.

A tiny part of him shrivels up and dies, choking him up as he dabs at his upper lip. “I think the bleeding's stopped,” he murmurs, deciding it’s probably best if Dean leaves and Castiel just takes himself to the clinic—best for his heart, anyway.

There’s a pause as Castiel turns down Oak Avenue. “I… I think we should go, anyway. You know, just to be sure you’re okay.”

The relief that settles in Castiel’s bones is so profound, he can’t speak. In truth, he’d really hoped Dean would say that—he doesn’t want to be alone right now—and can only nod as they make their way down the empty sidewalks.

Every time they pass under a streetlamp, Castiel can’t help but peek over at Dean to get another glimpse of him, and every time, he finds Dean looking back with a private little grin. Castiel’s sure his cheeks are bright red, and he can feel them burning with embarrassment, but that doesn’t stop him—Dean’s just too handsome not to look at.

“Why did you move here?” Castiel asks, trying to steer his attention away from Dean’s freakishly long lashes and how they cast deep shadows over his sharp cheekbones.

Dean shrugs, so close to Castiel’s side that their shoulders brush. “Needed a change, I guess. Got a job at the garage on Pine Street.” Castiel doesn’t even notice how their pace slows—just that the golden glow of the streetlights reflect in Dean’s eyes—green eyes, like dewy morning grass, or sea-foam lit by the golden hour. “How ‘bout you? Why’re you in this nowhere town?”

“Born and raised,” Castiel tells him as they round the corner onto Main Street. The twenty-four-hour clinic’s not too far from here—he can see the sign glowing even this far away—and looks back at Dean, soaking in his beauty before he eventually has to say goodbye. It hurts to speak, and he’s getting a little dizzy again, but he forces the words out anyway. “I’ve never left.”

“Really? Not for college?” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up when Castiel shakes his head. “What do you do, then?” he asks, looking around at the dark window fronts.

With a crooked, half-smile, Castiel looks up at the sign they’re passing under. The Secret Garden Bookstore, it reads, and he taps on the front window, indicating the little shop and its display of their new collection.

Dean’s eyes shoot from his to the inset doorway, then back again. “Here? You work here?” There’s something… impressed, about the way he says it, and pride ripples through Castiel as he pulls the shirt away from his face, wiping gingerly at the sticky, drying blood.

“Own it,” Castiel murmurs, his voice still rough and nasally, but not near as bad as it was twenty minutes ago.

“You _own_ it? Holy shit, Cas! That’s pretty damn cool.” Castiel blushes and tries to hide his smile by ducking his chin, but warmth trickles through his veins as Dean’s knuckles brush his where their hands swing at their sides. “I’ve always wanted a mechanic's shop of my own, but that’s a pipe dream, you know?”

With a start, Castiel realizes _this_ must be the hot new mechanic all the locals are talking about. Lisa’s been in his store _at_ _least_ four times in the last few days, gushing about his smile and the way he makes her blush. Instead of dwelling on that more than he has to, he focusses back on Dean, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up again as he laughs, and Castiel wishes the earth would just swallow him up then and there.

“Why, you got anyone in mind?” And the son of a bitch actually _winks_. Fuck him—fuck him and his stupidly perfect smile.

“Nah, just want to warn the locals away from the asshole who punches strangers in the face.” Castiel scowls at him, but watches in awe as Dean’s mischievous smirk dissolves into full, belly laughs with his head tipped back and laugh-lines creasing his eyes.

Dean shakes his head, a smile still playing on his full, red lips when he gets himself under control. “I can already tell I ain’t ever livin’ this down, huh?”

“Nope,” Castiel tells him, sniffling a little when his nose starts to run. He tucks the blood-soaked t-shirt back under it to be safe.

After a beat of silence and a few more storefronts behind them, Dean speaks. “No, I…” He shakes his head, looking at the cracked and dusty sidewalk beneath their feet. “No girlfriend. That’s not—” He shakes his head again, glancing up at Castiel with a wary little smile, and Castiel’s heart stutters.

Is he saying what Castiel thinks he’s saying?

“The local ladies ain’t got nothing to worry about from me,” he says at last, and Castiel thinks that’s _exactly_ what Dean’s not saying. His stomach flips and adrenaline pumps through his veins when the brush of Dean’s knuckles against his own all but confirms it.

“Here we are!” Castiel practically shouts in a high, cut off voice, then flushes when Dean jumps, but they’re outside the door of the clinic and he can see Jess staring with wide-eyed horror at the blood that’s got to be coating his face and staining his jacket.

“Oh, yeah—yes, right.” Dean pulls the door open for him, and for the first time, Castiel notices the cuts over his knuckles. He’ll have to get himself checked out, too.

Sure enough, as soon as they step through the door, Jess is on him. “Oh my God, Castiel, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“At least let me buy you dinner? Make it up to you, huh?” It’s coming up on midnight and Castiel gives Dean some major side-eye as they step out of the clinic, holding an icepack to his nose as the bruising under his eyes starts to set in.

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Oh, come on. I know there’s a twenty-four-hour diner down the street.” When Castiel looks back at him, he can’t help but melt at the sight of _that_ smile. It has butterflies fluttering in his stomach like mad, and there’s no way he can say no to that.

“Fine,” Castiel sighs, and it’s all worth it—the broken nose, and the exhaustion he’ll feel tomorrow—just for the way Dean's eyes light up.

Castiel knows the place, of course. The Roadhouse is the only diner of its kind, and it’s more of a sports bar than anything, but Ellen drops them in a booth right away, eyeing Dean up with keen, calculating curiosity, before leaving them to their menus.

“What’s good here?” Dean asks, scanning the menu for a moment before tossing it aside.

“Burgers,” Castiel says, almost without a thought, and tosses his aside as well. “And the strawberry milkshake. Make sure Ellen’s here though; if you get Jo, she skimps on the ice cream and it ends up being more milk than shake.”

“Noted,” Dean says, nodding with a chuckle, and Castiel can’t help his smile. He might actually kind of like Dean. If nothing more, they could be good friends. He hopes so, anyway—otherwise, this whole night will be really fucking disappointing.

They place their orders and as soon as Ellen’s finished fretting over Castiel’s bloodied jacket and bruises, they’re left alone to the mostly-silent bar. Re-runs of some sports games Castiel has no interest in play in the background as he sets the icepack aside and picks at his cuticles.

“What about you?” Dean asks out of nowhere, bringing Castiel’s eyes back up to his—green, with a little bit of speckled gold in the right light. “Girlfriend, I mean. Do you, uh… do you have one?”

Castiel offers him a small, almost sad smile, thinking this is it—Dean’s going to run, the moment he tells him. “Nah,” he says, looking away. He can’t stand to see his open, charming smile shutter off. “I don’t—I’m not into them. Girls, I mean. I don’t like girls, I… I’m not—”

“You’re… gay, then?” Dean says, his voice rising in the end, like a question, and Castiel just nods. He makes himself look Dean in the eye, but there’s nothing different there, and suddenly Dean’s stuttering makes sense—it confirms what he’d already suspected, but hadn't dared to believe. “That’s…” Dean trails off, breaking into a brilliant, glowing smile. “That’s cool, Cas. That’s awesome.”

Their food comes not long after that, but Castiel can hardly get it down past his happiness. Well, that, and their conversation. They talk, and talk, and talk, about everything and nothing, and Castiel doesn’t think he’s ever fallen so fast and hard for someone. It’s so _easy_ with Dean, now that they’re past the whole _broken nose_ thing, and it’s got him wanting more before he's even finished his milkshake.

“Let me walk you home,” Dean says after paying the check. “You know, to make sure you aren’t attacked by any more lunatics.”

Castiel chuckles, shaking his head and holding the brand-new icepack he got from Ellen to his nose. “ _You_ are the town lunatic, so unless we’re going another round, I think I’m good.” He looks at Dean, his heart sinking when Dean’s smile loses some of its happiness and rushes to continue. “But I guess an escort can't hurt, just in case someone else has moved to town that I don’t know about.”

“Sure thing, Cas.” Dean’s smile brightens once more, a plastic bag clutched in his other hand that holds his t-shirt, stained with Castiel’s blood. “My apartment’s this way, too,” he says when they step out the door and turn left. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find in the dark.”

“I can give you a tour of the town some time, if you’d like,” Castiel says, smooth as anything, and he doesn’t even realize he’s basically just asked to see Dean again until Dean stumbles over his reply.

“I—I, uh… yeah, that’d be awesome.” His accent makes the whole thing more adorable, and Castiel’s not sure if his pink cheeks are from embarrassment or the chill in the air, but either way, it brings out his freckles and gives him a boyish charm. “Tomorrow? After work, maybe?”

“I get off at five,” Castiel breathes. How in the world did he get so lucky? Never in his life has the hot, new guy ever wanted anything to do with him, so _how_?

“I’ll pick you up.” They’re just outside his apartment building—a six-story, ugly-as-sin, brick monstrosity that’s been here for ages and is falling apart like it hasn’t been maintained in just as long—and Castiel pinches the sleeve of Dean’s jacket before they can pass by.

“This is me.” It takes everything inside him to say it—to stop here and not just carry on beside Dean—but he actually _does_ have to work in the morning, and he needs his sleep.

“Oh,” Dean says, a little crestfallen, but he smiles all the same. “Okay, yeah.” Castiel studies the details of his face as Dean looks up at his building like he’s trying to remember every detail—Castiel does the same with the grouping of freckles by the corner of his eye. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you, you know, tomorrow. At five. Five-thirty? Whenever. I’ll just… I’ll see you.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, feeling like he’s on top of the world as he steps closer, feeling high on sugar, and painkillers, and maybe even life.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches up a hand, bringing it to the back of Dean’s neck and threading it through his hair as he brings their lips together. Dean gasps against his mouth, and for a second, Castiel’s heart drops when Dean freezes. Dean doesn’t want this—Castiel’s made a _huge_ mistake—oh God, this is so bad—

Then he’s being _kissed_ like he’s never been kissed before. Two hands on either side of his face, holding him still and pulling him in. It’s like magic—like _heaven_ right down on Chicago Avenue—and Castiel soaks it in like it’s the air he breathes, eyes closed and heart racing.

But Dean’s nose bumps his and that’s the end of it. Castiel hisses, jerking back and clutching his face as the dazed look clears from Dean’s eyes. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, but Castiel waves him off.

“It’s fine—I’m fine.” Even with his nose throbbing, heat still simmers in his veins, and it spikes higher when Dean licks his kiss-swollen bottom lip. “Here,” Castiel says, digging in his pants pocket for his phone. “What’s your number?”

They exchange phone numbers, and then there’s nothing more to say. It’s got to be almost two by now, and a shiver runs through Castiel as the night's chill sharpens with a brisk wind.

“I’ll call you,” Castiel whispers, and when Dean just nods, he decides it’s time to say goodbye. As much as he wants to, they can’t stand here forever, so he turns, but only gets about two steps away before he’s whirled back around and pulled in close.

It’s Castiel’s turn to gasp against Dean’s lips, but he falls into the kiss, feeling the swell of heat deep in his bones, no matter how brief it is. When Dean pulls back, it’s with a pleased little smile, and Castiel can’t help but feel like they got it right.

“Night, Cas,” Dean whispers, swiping his thumb over his shining bottom lip as he steps back.

“Goodnight.” With a smile on his lips that won’t be going away anytime soon, Castiel turns for his building. He leaves Dean behind but knows in his heart that it's not the last time he'll be seeing him—not for a long shot.

Back in his apartment, he falls into bed, staring up at the ceiling with his head in the clouds, thinking about tomorrow.

Who would’ve thought that a broken nose from a stranger would be the best thing that’s ever happened to him?

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter at [allmystars_AO3](https://twitter.com/allmystars_AO3)  
> ~  
> Follow me on Tumblr at [allmystars-i](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/allmystars-i)  
> ~  
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